Page 66 of Chaos Bound
“I knew you’d want your bike,” Tank said, leading Holt and Naiya outside. “So I had Shooter and Benson drop mine off this morning so I could bring yours into town.” He hesitated, grimaced when Holt frowned.
“We saved it from the fire. After Viper took you, he burned down Evie’s shop.”
“I knew about the fire.” Holt put a hand on Naiya’s back as they stepped out onto the street, part of him involved in the conversation, and the other part searching the street for danger.
“I kept it cleaned and polished and safe in Evie’s new shop.” Tank stopped and gestured to the bike. “It’s good as new. Maybe better ’cause I had the mechanics give it a real good work over, and I detailed it myself this morning.”
Emotion welled up in Holt’s throat as he drank in the sight of his ice and teal Heritage Softail Classic. He and Tank had gone to the local Harley dealer to buy the bike the day after he’d been patched into the club. Honest. Clean. Uncluttered and unaffected by passing fads, the Softail Classic dripped nostalgia, from the horseshoe oil tank to the classic lines of a vintage frame. This bike was all about class and tradition.
Holt nodded. “It looks good. Real good.” Damn he’d missed Tank. He was always doing little things that meant a lot.
Tank smiled. “I filled it up, too.”
“Appreciated, brother.” He mounted the bike, sat for a moment remembering the feel of saddle between his thighs, the hard rubber grips, and the weight of the bike. Naiya slid onto the pillion seat behind him and even she felt right—her arms around his waist, her breasts pressed up against his chest, her soft whisper that it was going to be okay.
“Something’s missing.” Tank jogged over to his bike, parked in front of Holt. His black denim Fat Bob took its styling cues from the barrel of a tommy gun and was one sweetheart of a ride. Tank pulled a cut from the saddlebag and held it out to Holt.
“Naiya gave this to me last night. You’ll—”
“Not ready for that yet.” Holt held up a hand. “You keep it for me.”
Tank’s face creased in consternation. “You can’t go into the clubhouse without your cut.”
“Jagger can make an exception for me.” Holt had no idea if Jagger would, in fact, make an exception for him. Three months ago he wouldn’t have even considered challenging Jagger or breaking the rules. But things had changed—he had changed. And if Jagger kicked him out for not wearing his cut, after all he’d been through, he would be glad to go.
He followed Tank through Conundrum, but when they hit the open road heading north out of the city, he flicked the throttle and went flat out, blasting past Tank, a grin on his face. Tank whooped with delight and accelerated, easily matching Holt’s speed since he wasn’t carrying any extra weight. For the next twenty blissful minutes Holt let everything go—Viper, revenge, the Sinners, the uncertainty of his future. He gave himself over to the thrill of the ride, the freedom of the open road, the wind in his face, and the beautiful woman tucked against his back who easily rolled with the flow of his riding style and never second-guessed his decisions.
His respite lasted until they hit the gravel drive leading through the trees to the Sinner clubhouse. Almost immediately, his pulse kicked up a notch and tension tightened his brow. Tank directed him to his old parking spot and then ushered them toward the clubhouse.
Although he had only been away three months, Holt saw everything through new eyes. The former country house they had appropriated from a drug dealer who tried to cheat the club had been renovated to become the new Sinner clubhouse, but little attention had been paid to the exterior. As they climbed the worn, wooden steps up to the porch, Holt saw little things he’d never noticed before: loose boards, rotted railings and a broken screen door. He noticed the blue siding had faded to gray, and the huge front windows were dirty and streaked. Inside was no better: a sea of clutter covered the worn, wooden floors; the chandelier overhead had lost a few pieces, and the red carpet leading up the grand staircase had seen better days. And had the clubhouse always smelled of stale beer and pizza?
He ushered Naiya inside and closed the door behind them. “The place looks like a fucking frat house after a party.”
Tank gave him a curious stare. “Whaddya you care? You never gave a shit about how it looked before.”
Why did he care? Holt didn’t know, but he felt embarrassed by the state of the clubhouse and ashamed to be part of a club that had no respect for its surroundings.
“This is pristine compared to the Black Jack clubhouse.” Naiya squeezed Holt’s arm and smiled. “They had so many pizza boxes lying around, they used to have competitions to see who could build the biggest stack, and there were things living in the corners—all sorts of critters.”
Holt knew what she was doing, appreciated her effort. She was like Tank in so many ways.
“It’s early,” Tank said, his face falling as they walked through the empty living room. “No one’s around, but the executive board is due to meet in ten minutes so you can meet the big guns first.”
Holt stared at the worn brown couch where he and Tank had watched crime shows and played video games with Hacker. His gaze traveled to the multitude of pictures of girls, bikes and girls on bikes on the walls. He and Tank had put up many of those pictures, given carte blanche by the senior patch to decorate in any manner they saw fit. But now, with Naiya at his side, those choices seemed crass, almost juvenile.
He heard voices in the meeting hall, a huge room that they had created by knocking down most of the walls on the main floor. Tank’s face lit up and he raced ahead.
“It’s Jagger and Cade, and I’ll bet the rest of the board is with them. Wait here and I’ll tell them I’ve got a surprise.”
“I’ll stay here,” Naiya said after Tank disappeared into the next room. “Give you some space to meet your brothers.”
“I want you there.” He threaded his hand through hers, pulled her to his side.
Pain flickered cross her face. “I don’t belong here. I’m sure the Sinners are all good guys, but being in a clubhouse again makes my skin crawl. What if someone recognizes me?”
Holt cursed under his breath. He hadn’t even thought about how hard it would be for Naiya to come to a clubhouse after what had happened to her. But he couldn’t imagine seeing Jagger and the rest of the brothers alone. He needed her to ground him, to keep the beast that still hungered for revenge at bay, to shake some sense into him if he lost track of who he was now and what he needed to do.
“Anyone touches you, threatens you, hurts you in any way, I’ll gut them like a fucking fish. And that will be the warm-up.”
